Today is the twenty-sixth day of the blessed month of Ramadan. The heart is immersed in a strange state. It feels as though only yesterday a caravan of divine mercy descended from the heavens at our doorstep, and today that very caravan is gathering the reins of its camels, preparing to depart. Only a moment ago the echo of its footsteps was fresh in our courtyard; its fragrance still filled the air—and now that same guest is quietly preparing to leave, like a traveller who, in the dim light of evening, turns back for one final glance before disappearing beyond the horizon.Click Here To Follow Our WhatsApp Channel
Ramadan was no ordinary month. It was as though a noble ambassador sent from the heavens, whose cloak carried pearls of mercy, jewels of forgiveness, and lamps of acceptance. It entered our homes like the sudden appearance of the moon in a dark night, filling the entire atmosphere with silver light. With it came moments in which caravans of angels descend upon the earth and the gates of heaven are opened.
But alas… a thousand regrets! We did not honour this guest as it deserved.
We did not light the lamps that should have been lit in its welcome. The windows of our hearts remained closed while the breeze of mercy passed silently by. Ramadan kept knocking at our doors, yet we remained so absorbed in the meaningless occupations of this world that we were like someone standing in a noisy marketplace who cannot hear the voice of the one calling him.
Our tongues continued to say “Ramadan, Ramadan,” yet our nights remained empty of tears. Our lips repeatedly mentioned the name of this month, but our hearts were deprived of its pain and its light. It was as if we were like a man before whom a sea of light surged, yet despite his thirst he could not drink even a single sip.
This month was like that brief season of spring in which flowers of mercy bloom upon every branch and the fragrance of forgiveness spreads in every direction. Yet even after entering this garden we walked through it like travellers of autumn. Instead of breathing in the fragrance of its flowers, we filled our garments with the dust of heedlessness.
Ramadan was like a river of light descending from the heavens, in which whoever immerses himself gathers pearls of forgiveness in his garment. But we remained seated upon the shore. We heard the sound of its waves, yet could not bring our feet to the water. Now that river is about to return, while our palms remain empty like dry sand.
Today, when the footsteps of this guest’s departure can be heard, the heart trembles. It feels as though a noble elder is rising to leave our home and we suddenly realise that we did nothing to serve him. We neither lit the lamps of the heart before him, nor fulfilled the right of honouring his arrival.
Who knows whether we will even be alive next year? Who knows whether the next Ramadan will be granted to our eyes?
This thought pierces the heart like a sharp wind passing through the silence of night, snapping the branches of trees as it goes.
Now only the final breaths of Ramadan remain. Only a few nights are left—and within the folds of these nights may still lie the Night of Decree, the night whose single moment is better than a thousand months. Perhaps this guest still carries a gift of forgiveness for us in his hands. Perhaps as he departs he may yet turn back to look at us.
If we awaken even now…
If tears of remorse descend into our hearts…
If drops of regret flow from our eyes…
then perhaps this departing guest may still place a few stars of mercy into our empty lap.
For Ramadan is a guest who, even while leaving, leaves behind the fragrance of supplication at the door of his host. But the condition is that the host’s heart awakens to the awareness of its own shortcomings.
If only, before he departs, we would open the doors of our hearts.
If only we would place our tears at his feet.
Lest tomorrow, when this guest has left, only one sentence remains in our hearts:
“If only we had truly valued Ramadan…”
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